


Knots

by bitboozy



Series: Domesticated [16]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-06 01:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitboozy/pseuds/bitboozy
Summary: God, he wants to touch her. God, she wants to be held.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think yesterday was the first day in weeks I haven't posted! That's because I'm really trying to give this storyline the thought and care it deserves - it's difficult and painful and sensitive for a lot of people, and I'm well aware that I won't be able to please everyone here, so I thank you very much for reading and for being on this journey with them, and I hope you'll keep that in mind. 
> 
> Also, I'm leaving town on Monday for a weeklong workshop of one of my plays (I'm a playwright by trade) so it's unlikely you'll hear much from me during that time! Going to try to finish the second chapter of this before I go though.
> 
> Thanks again, everyone - it's so lovely to know people are out there following these two. xx
> 
> (Also, shout out to "Knots" by Anna Nalick for singing the soul of this plot line.)

The kids are surprised but not especially perturbed to find him sleeping on the couch in the morning.

“Fall asleep watching _Handmaid’s _again?” Daisy asks on her way to the kitchen, still in her pyjamas. She knows Ellie will never watch it with him. She can’t stomach it.

He grumbles noncommittally, rubbing his eyes. He’d only just fallen asleep by the time everyone else had woken. He can hear Tom and Daisy fending for themselves in the kitchen, preparing their own simple breakfasts. Then Fred comes barreling down the stairs in his footy pyjamas.

“Alec!” He jumps onto the couch beside him. “Mumma is sick in the loo. Should we get her some medicine?”

“Mm, no, lad, she’s all right.”

“When I get sick in the toilet Mumma gives me medicine,” Fred insists.

“Your mum’s not that kind of ill, Fred, promise,” Alec replies, giving him a squeeze. “She’ll feel much better in a little while.”

“Kay.” Fred yawns. “Can I have cereal?”

“Yeah, can you ask Daiz?”

“Okay!” Fred jumps off the couch and scurries into the kitchen.

Alec stretches a bit, trying to work out the kinks from laying on the couch all night. Ellie comes down the stairs in her dressing gown, absently rubbing her stomach, her face pale. She stops in the doorway when she sees him, disheveled and exhausted. Like an Alec she once knew.

She can’t remember whose choice it had been for him to sleep on the couch, and frankly neither can he. But it had seemed the only viable option at the time.

“Morning,” she offers tentatively.

She’s surprised when he meets her gaze. “Mornin’.”

Every cell in both of their bodies is begging them each to go to the other. But they remain still. Until Ellie turns a bit green and covers her mouth.

“Oh no.” She runs off to the downstairs loo.

When she emerges, he’s standing by the door. “Bit of dry toast?”

“Ta.”

He goes into the kitchen. She can’t bring herself to follow him, and goes to the couch. She lies down, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him all night, to lie there alone, without her. Probably about as difficult as it had been for her to lie in their bed all night, alone, without him.

He comes out with a plate of toast and a glass of water and frowns. “All right?”

She sits up again and nods. A bit hesitantly, he moves to sit on the couch beside her, not quite as close as he would normally, and sets the toast and water down on the coffee table in front of her. The kids are surprisingly quiet in the kitchen. Sugar hangover from yesterday’s party, they presume.

“Bit paler than yesterday,” he notices, stopping himself from raising a hand to touch her cheek.

She shrugs and takes a small bite of the dry toast. “Been vomiting since about 4:30 this morning.”

It kills him that he didn’t know that. Not that he could have done anything. But it reminds him that he was away from her all night, that there was discomfort she experienced without him to soothe her. And, technically speaking, he is a very large part of _why_ she experienced it. He gets her pregnant, _she _ suffers the physical consequences. Suddenly the couch doesn’t seem so bad. 

“Sorry,” is all he says.

“Not your fault.” But it a little bit _is_.

They both lean back on the couch, hoping that if they go through the motions of being relaxed then perhaps at some point they actually will be. He can’t stop himself from staring at her stomach and she knows it, can feel it.

“Alec.”

“’m sorry.”

God, he wants to touch her. God, she wants to be held.

“We’ll need to find time to talk,” she says quietly. “Not at work.”

_Work_, oh christ. He has no idea how he can possibly go to work and be of any use to anyone.

“Might take the day,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

She turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t believe you.”

“Can’t very well focus on anythin’, can I?” His tone is a bit harsh, though he doesn’t mean for it to be. She looks away from him again. 

“I need to go in,” she says. “I need the distraction. Need to feel useful.”

_How much more useful can she be_, he wonders, _she’s literally carrying a life inside her_.

“Right,” he says instead.

Her hand moves to rest on the couch between them. He looks at it.

“Maybe afterward we can…” She’s not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Steal away for a bit, yeah,” he manages. “Talk.”

She purses her lips and nods. “I’ll call Luce. She can keep them all for supper.”

“Yeah, all right.”

His hand moves to rest on the couch between them as well, just next to hers.

“Good.”

She inches her hand toward his, and hooks their index fingers together. They both turns their heads to meet each other’s gaze. Then she runs off to vomit again.

*

Things are a bit strained at CID. A Miller without Hardy is something their fellow detectives are no longer used to, something that feels wrong and almost dangerous. She tells them that Fred is sick and that Hardy’s at home with him. They seem to find this kind of sweet, that he would take a day off to care for her sick child. It endears him a bit to them. She knew it would.

Her morning sickness turns into afternoon sickness today. Perhaps because of all the nerves and anxiety added into the mix. She goes to the Trader’s to pick up some takeaway soup, and on her way out, vomits into a bin.

This does not go unnoticed by Maggie Radcliffe’s keen eye as she walks past. She stops and approaches Ellie with concern.

“Ellie? Y’all right, petal?”

Ellie nods emphatically, breathing evenly to steady her heartbeat.

“Shall we get you to a doctor?” Maggie puts her hand on the small of Ellie’s back, comfortingly.

“No, ta, I’m fine, Maggie, honest.”

“Fine people don’t throw up into bins unless they’re hungover or pregnant,” Maggie replies with a laugh.

Ellie looks away, collecting herself. “Sure as shite not hungover,” she mumbles to herself, forgetting that Maggie’s ears are as keen as her eyes.

When Ellie looks up again, Maggie is staring at her, eyes widen. “What.”

“Are you pregnant, then, love?”

“What? No, I – no. What?” Ellie’s nose scrunches up in annoyance. She’s picked that up from Alec. As has her youngest son.

Maggie is smiling. “Oh, petal.”

“”m _not_,” Ellie insists. 

Maggie smirks, gesturing at Ellie’s chest. “Already up about half a cup size, I reckon.”

Ellie’s jaw drops in horror. “Oi!”

“I’m a _reporter_, I notice everything,” Maggie explains. “’s not unlike bein’ a detective, is it.”

Ellie sighs heavily. 

“How many weeks?” Maggie asks.

She gets a shrug in response. “Five maybe.”

Maggie tries to read her for a moment, then links their arms together. “Come on, petal. Let’s get you some tea.”

*

It’s times like these Alec wishes he had friends.

He putters around the house. Does some light cleaning, catches up on laundry. He picks up an old Le Carre novel, but can’t manage to stay engaged for more than five minutes at a time.

Around half one, he receives an unexpected text from Jocelyn Knight.

**Come round to mine. I’ve got a 12 year old Macallan with our names on it. **

It’s the middle of the day, and Jocelyn’s never asked him to come round before, but neither of those things are going to stop him today. He grabs his coat, and heads out the door.

*

Maggie takes Ellie to a teashop just outside of town, for the sake of privacy.

“What’s the trouble, then?” Maggie asks, once they’re settled with their mugs.

“What makes you so sure there’s trouble?”

“Absolutely everything about you right now.”

Ellie nods, unable to combat that. “Right.”

“Is it Hardy?” Maggie questions. “Not so keen on the idea?” 

“No, actually,” she replies. “That would be me.”

“_Oh_.” Maggie leans back in surprise. “Right, then.”

“It’s - - it’s just not what I want for my life right now. I’ve done it already.” Ellie traces the rim of her mug with her finger. “After all that’s happened these last years, I finally _like _my life again. I have everything I want.”

“And Hardy?”

“I swear to god, Maggie, that grumpy bugger is nothing if not full of surprises if you can believe it.”

“I can believe it,” Maggie replies, thinking the same of Jocelyn.

“He’s gone all soppy about it,” Ellie says. “Suddenly he so desperately wants to have a baby with me. And I don’t…I mean, I…sort of _love _that about him. I find it incredibly moving that he does, and god, I love him so much, but I just…don’t want this.”

“That’s your right,” the older woman says firmly, as if she needs to say it out loud and get it out of the way. “If you don’t want a baby, that’s your choice.”

“I know.” Ellie stares into her mug before taking a sip. “But that doesn’t feel right somehow. It’s as much his child as it is mine.”

Maggie nods, and there’s a bit of quiet before she speaks. “If you’ll allow me…I seem to remember you feeling similarly with Fred. Am I remembering that wrong?”

“No, you’re right,” Ellie replies, looking down. “Similarly, but not exactly the same. Then, I _wanted _a baby, truly wanted one, but I was terrified he wouldn’t make it to term because of the, well, you know, the miscarriage I’d had years earlier.”

“That’s right.” Maggie nods solemnly, remembering. “Well. The discussion of whether or not to have a baby is all well and good when it’s in theory – and frankly, it’s hard even then – but once you’re already – “

“I know.” Ellie pinches the bridge of her nose. “I know.”

Maggie hesitates, leaning forward and reaching for Ellie’s hand. “Petal, you know that you and Hardy have something special, right? No, I don’t mean special, something…undeniable and impressive and dare I say _strong_. And damned hard-won, frankly. What’s between you had been coming for some time and it was enough that the whole town felt it. And not just chemistry, necessarily, but that too. There’s an odd thing that happens when two people are meant to be together, and it’s that everyone else knows it before you do. There was an inevitability to you and Hardy getting together. Falling in love.” Maggie takes a breath, considering her next words carefully. “And I hope you’ll forgive me for this, but I think when it’s that strong, when it’s that powerful, that love _manifests_. It becomes its own entity.” Ellie is both grimacing and fighting back tears, and Maggie tempted to stop but she’s come this far. “I think perhaps in your case, it’s this baby.”

Ellie looks away, wiping away the moisture that’s been gathering at her eyes.

“I’m sorry, petal,” Maggie says softly. “Ever since Jocelyn and I made things official, I’ve been a bit…adamant about love.”

Ellie just nods, sniffling, still avoiding her gaze.

“If I may just ask you one last question.” Maggie reaches for her hand again. “If you choose not to have this baby. Do you think your relationship can survive it?”

*

Jocelyn and Hardy sit out on her patio, each with a scotch. For a few minutes, they don’t speak. They just enjoy the crisp fall air and get used to one another’s presence. Then Jocelyn puts her glass down.

“You can go ahead and ask the question.”

He looks at her, head cocked to the side. “What am I doing here?”

She nods. “I got a text from my partner, who is currently out with _yours_,” Jocelyn explains. “Evidently she found her vomiting into a bin on the high street.”

Alec sits up. “She all right?”

“I assume so.”

He leans back again, and takes a sip from his scotch.

“She’s pregnant,” Jocelyn states. “No?”

Alec looks up a her a bit startled, then nods reluctantly. Jocelyn waits for him to say something, and when he doesn’t, she continues. “And how are we feeling about that?”

“Dunno now,” he replies with a shrug. “She’s made her feelings plain which makes mine obsolete.”

Jocelyn raises an eyebrow in response to his childish assumption. “You know that’s not how how it works.”

Alec sighs. “It feels right to me. Doesn’t feel right to her.”

“I see.”

He takes one sip, and then another.

“May I ask what about it feels right to you?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be askin’ the other question?”

“I don’t think so,” Jocelyn replies, calmly.

He feels himself becoming irritated. “It’s right because it’s happening. Is that not enough?”

“No.” She takes a sip. “I shouldn’t think it is.”

“My child and Ellie are the two best things that’ve ever happened to me,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I want a child _with _Ellie?”

“_She _doesn’t,” Jocelyn answers simply.

“Yeah, I _know _she doesn’t, thanks very much,” Alec grumbles into his glass.

“You asked the question.”

“I…” He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. This is too intimate a topic for him to easily discuss with anyone but Ellie, too vulnerable. He sighs. “I should be so lucky. To have a baby with Ellie. She’s…you know, she’s an extraordinary mum, she’s brilliant. And when…ach.” He looks away. “The idea of her carrying my child is…it’s…”

“It’s very powerful,” Jocelyn finishes. “I understand.”

He takes a long, long sip of his scotch and finishes it off, fortifying him to articulate these feelings out loud. “I am very much in love with Ellie,” he says quietly, going a bit red and not meeting her eyes. “And this is what you do, isn’t it? This is what people do. When they’re in love.”

Jocelyn manages to smile then. She feels for him. “I’ve never been very good at knowing what…_people _do, either,” she says. “But a baby doesn’t prove you’re in love. A baby only proves you’ve had sex.”

Alec shifts uncomfortably and holds up his empty glass. “May I?”

“Please.”

He exits into the house with his glass. Jocelyn sips hers gingerly, and checks her phone.

From Maggie: **Wish like fuck I could get her drunk. **

She smiles and types back, **He’s well on his way. **

Alec returns having refilled his glass and sits back down. Jocelyn puts her phone away.

“May I ask you something?”

Alec nearly snorts. “What is it you’ve _been _doin’?”

“What is it that _appeals _to you about having a baby right now?” She asks. “The nappies? The sleepless nights? The wailing?”

“So you’re on her side.”

“Christ’s sake, Hardy, you’ve taken an awfully childish tact here.” She takes a sip. “Not sure who _that’s _going to work on.”

“It’s not unreasonable,” he insists. “To want a baby with the woman you love.”

“No, it’s not unreasonable,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t make it practical. Or desireable. Have you considered how you’ll feel when this delightful little…honeymoon phase of yours comes crashing to an end? You’ll miss that, you know.” 

He drinks.

“You’ve only just gotten together. I would think you’d like more time alone with her.”

“All right, yeah, I would. I would like more time alone with her,” he concedes, a bit aggressively. “But we’re not getting any younger, Jocelyn. And we’ve already got three kids between us, it isn’t like we’re not used to this sort of thing.”

Jocelyn shrugs. “You said it yourself. You’ve got three kids already.” 

He nods, actually hearing her, and looks down. He’s quiet and she lets him be quiet. When he looks up, she can see the emotion on his face.

“I missed it all,” he says softly. “With Fred and Tom, I missed it all. Missed the whole thing. Missed watching her…” He shakes his head and takes another sip. “I _hate _that he got to. That he got to have that with her. Share that. She deserves better. It makes me bloody furious, I could kill ‘im.”

Jocelyn is starting to understand now. 

“Have you shared that with Ellie?”

“Course not.” He frowns. “What good would it do? He’s done enough to her, I’m not addin’ to her anguish.”

“I think it might help her to know.”

He swirls around the liquid in his glass.

“We’ll see.”

*

At 5pm, he’s waiting for her outside the Broadchurch Police Department. If he’d been at work that day, she never would have been done by 5pm, but around 5:20 she runs into him, waiting around with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

She walks right into his arms. Her arms wrap around his waist and she rests her head on his chest, just relishing for a moment the feel of his arms around her and the rhythm of his heartbeat. He holds her tightly as the occasional co-worker drifts by trying not to look at them.

“I’m so sorry,” she says against his chest.

“_I’m _sorry.” He pulls her back and tilts her head up to look at him. 

“El, I don’t need a baby.” / “Alec, I should _be _so lucky to have a baby with you.”

They both pull back further.

“What?” / “What?”

Oh, fuck.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, nothing really happens in this chapter, but I hope it's at least somewhat satisfying.

“El, I don’t need a baby.” / “Alec, I should _be _so lucky to have a baby with you.”

They both pull back further.

“What?” / “What?”

Oh, fuck.

*

They go to the beach, stopping first at the chip shop because after an entire day of not eating, she could eat a hundred packets of chips. 

He lays his jacket down on the sand and they sit atop it. She offers to share her chips, but he refuses, as usual. She leans her head on his shoulder. They’re both so tired of talking. They just want to be together.

“Right, then,” Alec says, finally. “So Maggie convinced you to have a baby and Jocelyn convinced me not to. Is that about where we are?” 

As painful and confounding as all this is, she has to laugh. “Yeah, that about does it.”

She looks up at him, embarrassed that she’s actually smiling, and it’s so endearing that he has to kiss her. Her soft expression is a monumental relief to him. It’s only been twenty-four hours but he’s missed her so much, missed _them_.

“S’pose we really should shag less,” she says, popping a chip into her mouth. “If you could keep your hands off for me one sodding minute we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

_He _has to laugh now, and he kisses her again. Her lips are salty from the chips, and he has to kiss her _again_. “I love you,” he says, and it’s so simple and so honest and just…factual.

She smiles like a schoolgirl who’s just kissed a boy for the first time. “I love you.”

“I don’t want to lose this.” He finds her hand. “Us.”

“We won’t.” She’s shaking her head vehemently. “I’ll drive you mad for the next eight months and then we’ll have a child that looks like you and looks like me and we’ll fall in love. We’ll be up all night and we’ll fight over things that don’t matter and forget to shower and you won’t want to go anywhere _near _my lady parts for months, but – “ He’s wincing. “_But_. I’ll get to watch you rock her to sleep and you’ll lie in bed with me while I nurse her and eventually she’ll sleep through the night and we’ll wake up almost rested and maybe just maybe you’ll want to shag me again and it’ll be _earth-_shattering.”

There are tears in his eyes, so she reaches out and tries to wipe them away. “Oh, now, don’t do _that_, that’s _my _thing,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes.

“_She_?” He asks.

She shrugs. “From my mouth to god’s ears.” 

He finds her hand. “I’m not sure I want things to change.”

“Well.” She pops a chip into her mouth. “If you’re worried about our sex life, let me be the first one to tell you that a Pregnant Ellie Miller is an _insatiable _Ellie Miller. You won’t be able to lay a bloody hand on my shoulder without me trying to jump you where you stand.” 

His tears fade and he’s fighting a smirk. Then he lays a hand on her shoulder. She smiles wickedly shaking her head. “You dirty bugger.” She kisses him, a hand to his chin, then pulls back. “Our child is going to be _deliciously _wicked, you realize.” 

“A right pain in the arse, no question,” he agrees.

She pushes away the packet of chips and turns so that her legs are on his lap, then he pulls her close. “Is this what you want?” She asks, softly.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “If it’s what you want.”

“We’re splitting the night feedings,” she says sternly. “I don’t care if it’s my tits she wants.”

He touches his forehead to hers. “Deal.” 

“And we’re not getting married.”

“Christ, absolutely not.”

She smiles then, and kisses him, softly at first, then more insistently, grabbing onto the nape of his neck. He’s got a hand in her hair and the other arm around her waist, and soon he’s lowering her down and moving over her. His hand wanders down to her stomach as they kiss, fingers scratching at the fabric of her blouse.

She lays a hand at his chest and pushes him back. “You’d better get me home, I’m not shaggin’ you in the sand.”

*

They stop at the grocery on the way home and he picks out the ingredients for make her favorite meal, Chicken Marsala. At home in the kitchen she sits at the table with her feet up on a nearby chair, chattering away as he performs his duties at the house chef. She likes the look of him with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and a butcher knife in his hand. She’s always liked a man who could cook. He hands her bits and pieces of his ingredients as he prepares them, and occasionally she’ll grab onto his hand as he passes her, just because she can. 

“Quiet,” she notices, looking around. “Without the kids.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” He stirs the sauce, and tastes what’s on the stirring spoon.

“Lemme taste,” she demands.

He puts the spoon down and goes over to kiss her. She grins. “Mmm, quite nice.” 

“So what makes you so sure it’s a girl?” He asks, turning back to his sauce.

“Must be,” she replies. “You’re my good luck charm. If we’re truly lucky we’ve made another Daisy.”

“If we’re lucky she’ll be a mini _you_.”

She blushes and reaches her foot out to nudge him with it.

“Think Lucy will take the kids for the whole evening?” He wonders. 

Ellie shrugs. “Suspect so. Shall I ask her?”

“Might be nice,” he replies. “After the last twenty-four hours.”

She pulls out her mobile to text Lucy. “She lets ‘em stay up late, they’ll not be bothered.”

“We can snog on the couch for once.” He pokes at the chicken breasts sauteeing in the pan.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Since when have the kids ever stopped us on _that _score.”

“Well. Less guilt anyway.” 

Again, she stretches her leg out and nudges him with her foot. He throws a quick smile back to her. “Yes? Was there something you needed?”

She beckons him over with her index finger. He obeys, putting the spoon down and going over to her. She keeps beckoning with her index finger until his lips are close enough to kiss. “Much better.” She presses her lips to his.

“I’ve got work to do, woman.”

She just kisses him again. “I don’t care.” And again.

“Hang on, just a minute.” He takes a few steps back and switches off the burners on the stove, then goes right back to her. His lips crash back into hers and he lowers himself down onto his knees to be closer to her level. She leans forward, holding his face in her hands as he deepens the kiss, positioning himself between her knees. She slides forward on the chair, and his hands move to rest on her thighs.

“El,” he says a bit breathlessly. She tries to keep kissing him but he stops her. “Are you happy?”

“Don’t I _seem _happy?” She asks, running her hands up and down his muscular back. “Kiss me please.”

He does. “I just want to make sure that this is….”

“Yes,” she replies against his lips. “I am madly in love with you despite my better judgment and I am quite pleased to be carrying your child.” 

He smiles. “And your child.”

“Yes, you’re right, I am not merely a vessel. Now kiss me.”

He does. “We keep on at this rate, the meal will be ruined.”

She groans into his ear. “Aaarrrgh, don’t make me choose between food and sex.”

“First we eat,” he says, kissing her cheek. “Then we curl up and watch _Coronation Street_.” He kisses her jaw. “And _then_– “

“We fall asleep watching Graham Norton?”

He pouts and it makes her smile.

“We’re not that old.” 

“_I _am, I am exactly that old,” Ellie argues. 

“Old people don’t accidentally get pregnant.” He kisses her neck. 

“Oi.” She blinks rapidly. “That _is _what we did, isn’t it.” 

“Yes.” He presses his nose to hers. “Bloody irresponsible sods, we are.” He kisses her one last time, then somewhat reluctantly stands up again. “Right, then, few more minutes on the chicken and we’re off to the races.”

*

After supper, he makes them both a cup of tea and they settle onto the couch in front of the television to digest. By the time _Graham Norton _starts, he has fallen asleep on her shoulder. She rearranges him so that he’s lying on her chest with her arm around him as she sips her tea and raptly watches the evening’s guests. She lets him sleep through the whole program, comforted by the weight of him leaning on her. When it’s over, she tries to gently wake him. 

She brushes back his hair and lightly scratches his head, pressing a kiss ot his hairline. “Come on, love, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Mmm.” He squirms against her, much in the way Fred does, and holds on tighter.

She rubs his back. “Up you go now, to bed, come on.”

“Time to shag you senseless,” he murmurs into her shirt.

She chuckles. “I don’t think so, love.” 

He shifts until he’s lying with his head on her lap, looking up at her. “I’ll get a second wind.”

“You barely slept last night,” she reminds him, stroking his hair. “You are positively knackered. And I want you at full capacity.” She trails her index and middle finger over his lips.

He groans, turning into her, hiding his face in her stomach. “I love you.”

“Mm, I know, but you still need to drag your sorry arse upstairs.” She pats his back, encouragingly. “Come on, up you go.”

Upstairs, it’s all she can do to get him to change into a t-shirt and brush his teeth, she can manages it. He topples into bed and crawls under the covers while she disappears into the loo to work on her nighttime routine. When she’s through, she reemerges in a tank top and knickers and gets into bed beside him. He appears to be already dead to the world, but when he feels her next to him, he throws an arm around her waist and moves to rest his head on her chest. She switches off the light on her bedside table and strokes his hair absently. She thinks he’s asleep but his hand slips underneath her shirt to caress her lower abdomen.

“Baby Miller-Hardy?” He murmurs, barely audible.

She shakes her head. “Baby Hardy. Miller’s not done me much good.”

“Mm.” He kisses her chest through her t-shirt. “Night.”

“Sleep well, my love.”

It takes her a lot longer to fall asleep than it does him. When she does, she dreams she’s back at school, and she’s failed her A-levels. Not a new dream. 

In the morning, when the sun has barely risen, he wakes her by slipping a hand into her knickers. He knows well her feelings on morning sex and intends to reward her tenfold for her patience last night. He fucks her unrelentingly with his fingers, watching her with rapt attention until she comes with a shattering scream that would have surely woken the children had they been at home. As soon as she recovers, he’s kissing his way down her body before settling between her legs. She doesn’t think she can take it but before she can say anything, his tongue is hard at work and she’s losing her senses again. Once she’s satisfied, he returns to her side, placing a hand to her hot cheek with a wicked smile before leaning his head down to take a nipple in his mouth.

It’s then that he feels her tense up, and suddenly she jumps out of bed and sprints into the bathroom.

Perhaps morning sex is no longer their thing.

***


End file.
